Uber
by merryfortune
Summary: I just asked my Uber driver "have you ever killed a man" and there was a VERY long pause before he answered "not sure" - Alex Hirsch's Twitter, October 30th 2015


**Uber**

 **[AN: I saw this tweet by Alex Hirsch and realised I had to do something about Grunkle Stan.]**

Stan was down on his luck. Again. He was getting use to evading angry people who recognised him from his less-than successful ventures but he didn't like having to be wary that some old lady who spent a fortune on his sham products might come past and harass him; hitting him over his head with her huge purse. That's already happened twice today and seven times last week, worst yet, it seemed to be the same woman.

Stan dug through his wallets. It was time to skip town. The bitter taste of angry memories distracted him. He thought about his brother; maybe it was time to test that route. They were both well-adjusted adults of society – one of them more so than the other; surely they could get along now that so much time had passed between them. The bad blood had surely dried.

He trudged to the side of the rough road. He stuck his thumb out and Stan waited a moment. A cab swooped in next to him. It was a pretty old looking vehicle and looked like it had been through a couple fights or so. All sorts of mysterious dents were beaten into the door, the bonnet, and even the roof.

'How may I help you?' came a voice from inside the cab. The bloke had a thick Indian accent and he wound down the window.

'How far can you take me on ten bucks?' Stan asked.

'Depends, where would you like to go?' the man asked; his voice competed with a buzzy funky, Bollywood music.

'Wanna get outta town.'

'Got eleven dollars?' the man asked.

'Maybe.' Stan said. He thought he might have enough in loose change to make up the extra dollar.

'I can get you to within a short walk of the bus station. Next out of town bus leaves by seven.' the man informed him.

'Sounds fine.' Stan said and the taxi man accepted him as a customer.

Stan sprawled out in the back of the cab. It had been cold outside, too cold for Stan to handle but it was good in here. The music wasn't too his tastes but somehow, it lifted his spirits. He glanced at his driver through the mirror. The guy was ancient. Stan wondered about his life.

Stan once had a girlfriend whose two great passions in life were red wine and playing the taxi game. The game kind of creeped Stan out but now that he was older and wiser, he could see some merit in it. Considering that he wanted to go sweet talk his brother, now could be a good time to see if he can still sweet talk like a con artist.

The taxi game was simple. You need to find out full name, marital status, and home address of your driver. Stan's ex-girlfriend had been a master of getting through all three levels and since she and Stan had whirled around in a few cabs, Stan had listened into the conversations between this chick and their driver. He learned a thing or two about so many people that it changed his stance on immigration laws.

'So, where're you from?' Stan asked, airy.

'Redneck country; Alabama.' the taxi driver replied.

'Cool... New Jersey.' Stan replied. 'You got a missus? I'm tryin' to be a rom-com hero here, gonna try and reunite with my childhood sweetheart.'

'I say good luck to you. My missus would be impressed; we've been together eighty long years. Word from the wise: a little romance is never amiss.' the driver replied. Stan nodded his head thoughtfully.

Suddenly, the appeal to this game disappeared. Maybe, it was time to play a different game. This game was common to play with check out chicks and cashiers. Buy three items to purposely freak them out. Stan was going to try a verbal variant.

'You ever killed a man?' Stan asked.

Predictably, there was a long pause and the driver kept driving. He was either petrified or in disbelief. Those creases on his face, old as time itself, gave no hints as to his emotions. Stan assumed though it would be the latter. nothing quite conditioned people to accept abhorrent horror quite like being a taxi driver.

'Here is your stop.' the taxi driver said as he pulled into the kerb. 'Eleven dollars and two cents please.'

'Here you go.' Stan said and he paid the man as he left.

'Thank you.' the taxi man said and Stan glanced at his name: Aarav Cheema. 'Also, in regards to your question. Have I ever killed man?'

'Yeah?' Stan mumbled.

'...Not sure.'

Stan was left silent in alarmed terror and the taxi man drove off. In that moment, Stan decided that he would never fuck with Aarav Cheema, or any guy whose name means "peaceful" actually.


End file.
